An Open Letter to that Cup of Coffee I Just Made

Dear Cup of Coffee I just made,

          Where the fuck are you? I literally just had you in my hand like three seconds ago, and I’ve only been in two rooms of my house since then, and you are in neither. Was it something I said? Something I did? Or maybe you never even existed at all. I am willing to recognize the possibility that we are all living in a holographic dream state while our bodies are kept sterile in slime baths waiting to feed our overlords, the Old Gods. Given this premise, it is a possibility that you, Coffee, never existed at all, and are being used as a tool in the Old Gods mind games, pushing me to the point of insanity so my captors could feed off my psychic energy.

          It is also possible that the moment I sent you down, probably on a countertop, I had a heart attack and died. If this is the case, I am writing this letter from the seventh circle of hell, the “Where’s my coffee” level of eternal torment.

          A final possibility is that I just can’t remember where I put you. This could be easily remedied by some sort of stimulant to my central nervous system, awaking my brain and allowing me to access my memories. Not cocaine, probably something more easily accessible, like…


I need you to find you, but I don’t have you, so fuck you.

                       I think we should see other people,